Traditions and Totems
by VampirePam
Summary: Standing in the airport at the conclusion of the Fischer Job, Eames and Arthur must rely on their totems and each other to be convinced that their world is real.


Exhausted despite his fifteen theoretical hours of sleep, Arthur closed his eyes for a moment and let the clunking whir of the luggage carousel wash over him. As he did so, he subconsciously reached into his vest pocket and lifted the small, red die that always rested there, turning it over oh so carefully in his fingers.

"In need of reassurance, darling?" came a voice from behind him, and Arthur didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was.

"Aren't you, Eames?" he shot back. "After all, you were a level deeper than I was. A level deeper than we've ever gone."

"Yes, yes, I was," Eames conceded thoughtfully.

"What's it like?" Arthur asked, opening his eyes and turning to look at Eames, "Having to reject that many complete universes when you wake up?"

"A hell of a jolt, if you must know," Eames admitted, reflexively reaching into his own pocket and running his fingers over his own totem. "I'm still a bit shaky around the edges."

"And that's why you're standing next to a luggage carousel with a cart already full of bags talking to me?" Arthur asked shrewdly, unable to resist extending a hand and laying it lightly on the front of Eames's laughably cheap suit.

Eames gave a little chuckle and reached up to affectionately straighten Arthur's tie as he said, "You always did understand me a little too well, Arthur. But then again, I think you'll concede that I understand you a little too well in return."

"Oh, really?" Arthur challenged.

"Yes," Eames insisted, "Which is how I know why you're standing next to a luggage carousel when we both know you didn't check any bags."

"Please enlighten me, then, oh great and powerful Eames," Arthur taunted good-naturedly.

"Simple, dear fellow," Eames said, carefully moving his hand up from Arthur's tie to his shoulder. "You were waiting for me."

"Your arrogance really knows no bounds, does it Eames?" Arthur asked.

"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm right," Eames said seriously, bringing the other hand to Arthur's opposite shoulder, fingers just glancing over his cheek. "You are standing there because right now, below that calm, put-together exterior, you're radiating absolute entropy, every atom in your body seemingly whirling in seven different directions at once. Part of you is exultant that you actually pulled it off, and it keeps whispering that you be some sort of god, and that nothing in this pitiful little world can ever hope to compare to what you just did. The other part is terrified that you failed, that at this very moment we're still wandering aimlessly in some secret corridor of Fischer's subconscious, that none of this is real. And you were waiting for me because you know I'm the only person who can quell the chaos."

Arthur was no longer taunting as he replied quietly, "We can't keep doing this after every job, Eames, and just going on like nothing's changed. Sooner or later we're going to have to talk about it."

"Probably," Eames admitted, keeping his eyes trained on Arthur, "But not today. Today we did what many thought to be impossible - true inception."

Arthur couldn't help smiling as he answered, "Yes, I suppose we did."

"Tell me, Arthur," Eames whispered, leaning in closer and bringing his hand up to rest on Arthur's cheek, "Do I have to break into your mind or will you accompany me to my hotel room the old-fashioned way?"

Eames's touch sparked a flurry of recollections for Arthur: late afternoon light filtering in through gauzy Parisian curtains; a loaded die and a poker chip placed in a small glass on a bedside table; Eames's hands clasped over his own, clinging to a rocking bed frame.

Too overcome by the events of the plane flight - and, if he was being honest, too tempted by the idea of spending the day wrapped around Eames - to say no, Arthur did deny Eames the satisfaction of a verbal acquiescence, choosing instead to pick up his small carry-on, walk forward a few steps, then send him back a mischievous look and a quick, "You coming?"

Eames just laughed and jogged forward, dragging the luggage cart in his left hand and winding his right companionably around Arthur's waist. Arthur returned the gesture, and as they stood outside the airport awaiting a taxi, he allowed himself the luxury of resting his head on Eames's shoulder. Arthur found himself taking in the scratchiness of the suit jacket and the strength of the shoulder beneath it, and was relieved to find both not only surprisingly comforting, but very, very real; perhaps, he mused idly, the die wasn't his only totem after all.


End file.
